


The ways we fight.

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Harry-centric, M/M, Smoking, Swearing, a teeny tiny bit of blood, and SPOILER! happy ending, hope that's all possible squicks listed then, non-au, oh and a lot of tea drinking, present moment (partly), wine drinking, x-factor era (partly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 15:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10249706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: How Harry and Louis learn to disagree with each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Mardy Bum by Arctic Monkeys, and my infinite love for these two boys.

_**London, 2010** _

_There are a few grand solid truths in Harry’s young life that he is absolutely certain of. First, he is incredibly lucky. He’s currently living in the bloody X-Factor House, he’s in a cool band with cool people. He’s been avoiding pinching himself for weeks now, scared he might wake up. He is also pretty certain that he’s loved by his family, annoying and embarrassing as they are. With his mum patting his cheeks weekly on national television, he just might be making ‘mama’s boys’ cool again. He’s trying not to get a big head out of all the current craziness, which isn’t honestly a huge concern, as he is a very self-aware and well-raised 16-year old, but he reckons it’s good to be vary, in any case. Last thing he wants is gossip rags yelling about tell-alls by people from nursery he doesn’t even remember the names of (which would be impossible, though, Harry has an incredible name memory), talking about how he let fame get into his head and turned into an absolute wanker. None of that, thanks very much. The other lads in the band poke fun of him sometimes, for being such a posh boy with good manners, but he just laughs it off. No shame in being nice, and he knows it’s all good-humoured banter anyway. Yup, he’s pretty solid in his trust that he is genuinely well-liked by most people and unconditionally loved by the people that really didn’t get a choice._

_And then there’s Louis, the magnificent, mesmerising Louis, who really can’t be grouped with anyone else in Harry’s life because there’s no one like Louis in his life, or in this world. They met in the loos, and Harry’s gone back later to think about how strange it is when you meet someone for the first time, and never know just how important they’ll become to you. They hit it off instantly, and it really didn’t take long for them to realise that they were a dream team._

_Harry’s not cynical per se, he does believe in love and forever and all that, it’s just that he’s seen his parents fight with each other and new partners, hearts and homes broken, so whilst he does believe in love, he is aware that real life doesn’t always work out the way people want to. He doesn’t spare much thought for cynicism when it comes to himself and Louis though; it’s still early and everything is new, and they haven’t said the l-word yet, but he is absolutely certain that there won’t be a time in all of infinity when Louis wouldn’t be in his life, making everything so much better and bigger._

_Except lately, there’s been this one thing slowly creeping to the back of his mind that he can’t seem to shake off. He’s been trying to quiet down, hush it away, but the more he tries, the louder the nagging sound gets and Harry feels like something’s got to give in a while._

\-- 

**London, present day**

It’s nearing to midnight and Harry’s on his second glass of red wine. He’s sitting on the sofa with a plate on his lap and the level of how intensely pissed off he is, is increasing. The dinner’s gone cold on his plate, he’s been mindlessly picking a piece of steak and occasionally scraping the plate with his fork with too much force. The sound it’s making gives him chills, not the good kind, and he’s considering making this hate-scraping a new hobby of his. Well, not a hobby per se, but a good option for letting out some annoyance instead of biting his nails and pulling at loose strands of his hair. 

Yet another rerun of Mock The Week is playing on telly. Normally he’d absolutely love the comedy panel show and enjoy it wholeheartedly, but now even one of his favourite programmes is just noise. He had first started, out of habit, watching Match of the Day and then decided that, completely rationally, if one Louis Tomlinson decided to not bother coming home on time to watch it, no way anyone in this house was watching football. Yes, it makes full sense to Harry to boycott football because his previously-favourite football fan is being a dick.

Harry’s mind is both numbingly empty and full of loud thoughts, especially about that one drawer in their kitchen that he just happens to know has a pack of emergency cigs, buried under piles of papers neither he nor Louis ever have the energy to go through and file properly. He’s just about to cave in and go find that pack, maybe adding lung cancer to a list of Louis Tomlinson’s sins (yes, he starts referring to his spouse by his full name when he’s annoyed at him, which is a tad silly and a lot annoying to said spouse, and Harry thinks it serves him right), when he hears the front door open.

As on cue, he sits up straighter and takes another sip of his wine, quickly changing the channel back to Match of the Day, because he’s petty like that. It’s a shit match anyway and Louis wouldn’t mind missing it too much, but any football is football.

“Hiya love, sorry I’m so late!” Louis yells from the hallway, dumping his bags on the floor, kicking his shoes off by the sound of it and throwing his jacket on the chair. Harry closes his eyes; he’d better not have kicked a mark to the wall again. He knows he only has a few nanoseconds to decide his approach for the night. He could be nice and nevermind his annoyance, just let it go and try to shut the nagging voice in his head. Or he could just have it out immediately, say a few harsh words and bask in Louis’ puppy-like apologetic pampering for the rest of the evening, and probably a fair bit of the rest of the weekend. 

Louis rushes into the living room, bending down to try and give Harry a kiss at the top of his head, only Harry turns his head away to avoid it. “You look nice, babe.” Louis glances at the screen. “Why on earth are you watching this shit match?”

Harry, at that moment, feels something snap. 

“Not much else to do,” he says lowly and takes another sip of his wine. He can feel Louis eyes on him, looking at him with heightened cautiousness.

“We could watch a movie?” Louis suggests with faked lightness in his voice. Harry bites his cheek and stays quiet. Louis seems to hear the meaning behind it, and then moving his eyes to Harry’s barely touched plate. “I thought we were having dinner together?”

Harry closes his eyes and sighs deep. He could try counting to ten, sure, but right now he barely remembers what number comes after two. 

“Yes, Louis. So did I.”

He can hear how Louis brain ticks and calculates on the best response. It feels like they’re standing on ice, with a little faint crack between them, a crack that will turn into a full-on divide if either of them makes one minimally wrong move.

Louis sighs, voice soft, and he probably tries to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder but reconsiders and doesn’t. “Look love, I said I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Riiiight,” Louis says slowly, not really knowing how to proceed.

“The food’s still on the counter. Go heat up some for yourself.” Harry really, really is too kind sometimes.

He can hear Louis body language get a little less tense. This time he does follow through and squeezes Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Great, thanks love.” Harry doesn’t respond, just starts picking at his finger nail.

Louis is almost out of the living room when Harry finally pipes up. “I just think it’s funny how you didn’t think to let me know you’d be late.”

\-- 

_Harry’s lying on his bed in the X-Factor house, propped up to his elbows, texting with Gemma who’s telling him about a crazy student party she went to last night and ‘Do not tell mum or I will cut off a curl from your own head and strangle you with that piece of your own hair’, telling about this mild drug she tried and had an amazing time. Everyone else is downstairs, cooking and being so very loud, but Harry’s just not feeling it. He’s feeling a bit glum, to be honest, trying very hard to concentrate on imagining his sister frolicking around the uni world, trying to imagine anything to make that nagging voice in his head be quiet._

_Harry hears the door open and next thing he knows, something heavy is throwing itself over him, the bed creaking from the added weight._

_“Whatcha up to, Curly?” Louis asks, biting Harry’s shoulder. “Voting for our band?” He settles his chin on Harry’s neck and licks his earlobe._

_“Just talking to Gems,” Harry clears his throat, realising he hasn’t spoken in a while and his voice is rough. “Nothing interesting.”_

_“Come on, everything you do is interesting.”_

_“Ha,” Harry huffs. “As if.” It comes out a bit forced, and Harry stares at his phone a bit more intensely, trying to shut down the little drip of subconscious thoughts, threatening to pour out of his brain._

_“Sure you are, Curly, I think so and what I say is a fact, everyone knows that.”_

_Harry laughs. “Oh please. You lie all the time.”_

_Louis takes on an offended voice. “Excuse me? What have I lied about recently?”_

_Harry feels his insides chill and time suddenly stops moving. He absolutely hates confrontation, and this seems like one of those moments where you either take a plunge and get real or shrug it away and bury your irks deeper inside._

_He chooses the latter. “Nothing, never mind, forget I said anything.”_

_Louis sits up and looks at him, taking the phone off Harry’s hands. “No, I won’t. What are you saying? You’re trying to say something.”_

_Harry sighs and turns to lay on his side, looking at the wall, through Louis sitting between him and the wall. “Leave it, Lou.”_

_Louis pokes his tum. “Not an option. Talk to me.”_

_Harry doesn’t say anything, resulting in Louis poking his stomach again with three quick jabs. “You’re being weird, Haz. You have been for a while now. What’s up?”_

_Harry sighs and pulls his knees up to a fetal position, fingers fumbling with the corner of his pillow case. “I just, you’ve been a bit… far away.”_

_“But I’m right here,” Louis laughs but it doesn’t sound like he’s really that amused._

_“No, I mean… Like, distant. To me. Like you want to be further away from me.”_

_“Come on, Haz, that’s stupid. You’re so wrong. And a bit dumb.”_

_**Don’t bottle things up.** _

\-- 

Louis stops still on his feet. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

“Where even were you?”

Louis sighs, turning around. “We got stuck in traffic.”

Harry gives out a dry laugh. “Oh please. It’s midnight, not exactly fucking peak hour.”

“There was an accident on the motorway just off Heathrow and all the cars heading off were being held up.”

Harry draws his feet up, hugging them, resting his chin to his knees. “You could’ve called.”

“My battery ran out.”

“Could’ve borrowed Oli’s.”

“I…” Louis sounds stunned. “I didn’t think of that.”

Harry unwraps his arms and turns to look at Louis. “Oh come the fuck on, Louis. You’re so fucking addicted to your stupid phone, you always make sure it has battery. You even have a travel charger, I bought you that bloody charger!” His volume goes up the longer he goes on.

“FINE. Fine, just, calm down. We were stuck in traffic, my battery did run out, the travel charger was somewhere at the bottom of my bag, which was in the trunk, and honestly I didn’t think it was such an issue to be a bit late, alright?”

“A bit late? You were supposed to be home like two hours ago.”

“I know, babe, and I really am sorry. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do? There’s nothing I can do about it anymore but say sorry.”

“You could’ve let me know,” Harry bites his lip.

“I know. I could’ve. I should have. I’m shit.”

“You are.”

“I’m shit and I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t.”

Louis nods, smiling a bit. “At least we agree on that.”

Harry shrugs.

“Now is it ok if I eat a little? I’m really tired, it was a long day, and I’d rather not fight with you at all, but if you want to keep going, I’d rather do it when I’m not starving.”

Harry takes a long look at Louis. He does look tired, with bags under his eyes, eyes that were looking a little sad. They often did, these days. “Ok.”

Harry remains seated on the sofa, feeling a bit shit really, as Louis makes his way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Louis takes in the sight of their little kitchen table being all set up. They preferred to eat in the kitchen when it was just the two of them, leaving the dining room for bigger gatherings. The table is set with now burnt-out candles, a plate and a wine glass from their better set of table ware. It looks sad, and lonely. On the counter, a half-empty bottle of red wine is set next to a dish of creamy potatoes dauphinoise, a small bowl of a colourful salad and a pan with a mouth-watering steak. Harry wasn’t too keen on heavy meals with red meat usually, but he well knew they were Louis’ favourite. Louis dishes up a plate and puts it in the microwave, turning it on.

\-- 

_Harry feels his insides freeze up. He is pretty confident about most things about himself; he knows he doesn’t look totally minging, he’s has had his share of admirers, he knows he can be a bit witty with the right people and knows a thing or two about many subjects. But there’s this one thing that he feels so, so insecure about and he’s trying hard to improve it, but he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing or come across as stupid, he wants people to take what he says seriously and sure, he weighs his words carefully, but he is not dumb, even if he speaks a bit slower than most people._

_And Louis knows all of this. Harry’s told him it’s the one thing that makes him feel so low, so little, so meaningless. So irrelevant._

_“Ah fuck, shit, Haz, I didn’t mean it like that,” Louis looks at him with his eyes flashing. “You know I don’t think that, shit, sorry.”_

_“But you just said that!” Harry says and, consequently or not, feels like the words come out of his mouth a lot quicker than normal. “You just called me dumb.”_

_“I didn’t mean to! I don’t think you’re dumb, I’m sorry, I just meant you’re acting…silly.”_

_Harry can’t think of anything to say, so he says nothing._

_Louis hugs him and Harry, for some reason, lets him. “I think you’re the smartest. You’re brilliant and bright. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me?” Louis pouts and makes ridiculous puppy eyes at him, and Harry really can’t help but smile and nod._

_“Just don’t ever, ever, call me dumb again.”_

_“Never.” Louis promises and kisses him._

_Harry decides it’s good enough for now, Louis is here, obviously giving him undivided attention, so he decides to cuddle in closer and hope his brain shuts the hell up._

_**Don’t be mean. Don’t go for each other’s insecurities.** _

\-- 

The microwave beeps, seemingly summoning in Harry who walks in at the same time, heading for the wine bottle. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” Louis says quietly. “It looks amazing.”

Harry pours wine into his glass. “Wanted to spoil you.” He nudges the wine bottle towards Louis. “Want some?”

“Nah, had a few beers on the flight. Don’t really feel like it now, want to have an early night.”

Harry visibly tenses, putting the bottle away. “Oh. I see.”

“See what?” Louis sits down by the table, digging in. The food smells heavenly.

“That tonight wasn’t that important to you.”

Louis puts down his fork, getting a bit irritated. “What?” He mumbles, still chewing off his mouthful.

“Don’t speak with food in your mouth. You know I hate that.”

“You eat with your tongue out.”

Harry huffs. “You think it’s endearing, you’ve always said.”

“Well, you’re not being very endearing right now, are you?” Louis snaps. He’s tired, he just wants to finish his delicious food. “You’re being so fucking argumentative about everything right now!”

“Oh, so everything is my fault now?”

“Everything what, Harry? I honestly don’t know what you’re getting at anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t want wine, what the hell?”

Harry’s opening one of the drawers. “It’s not about the wine!” He raises his voice, shutting the drawer with a bit more force than needed. It makes a loud bang. “I just wanted to have a nice evening with you, relax, hear what you’ve been up to, tell you what I’ve been doing, but clearly your plan was to come home late, eat just to not be hungry and not spend any quality time with me.” He throws a pack of cigarettes on the counter, annoyed, but the pack hits the now almost-empty wine bottle, tipping it off so red wine is spilling everywhere. The bottle rolls off the counter and hits the floor, breaking in pieces.

\-- 

_Everything’s fine and dandy for a while after that. Harry keeps shutting down any nagging feeling he might have, and they’re so busy with the live shows and rehearsals anyway that there isn’t really any time for him and Louis to spend with just the two of them._

_It’s Monday noon, Harry’s making an omelette in the kitchen when Louis walks up to him._

_“Would you like to go on a date tonight?” He whispers._

_Harry turns around, surprised. “Huh?”_

_“As in, you are cordially invited to a date tonight, Curly. With me. If you should so kindly accept, of course.”_

_Harry beams. “Of course.”_

_Harry is pretty sure he’s looking down from cloud nine for the rest of the day. At rehearsals, he can’t seem to stop staring at Louis, who quickly turns his eyes away every time he catches Harry’s. Harry tries to wink, which is a bit ridiculous because for some reason he is uncapable of winking, it’s more like blinking whilst trying to get an eye lash out, but Harry doesn’t care. Louis is amazing, and he’s taking him on a date, an actual date, tonight. Because he likes Harry and wants to spend time with him, and it’s making Harry feel very, very warm inside._

_“Where are you taking me?” Harry asks Louis during a break. “You know we can’t really go out much.”_

_“I know,” Louis winks, a lot more smoothly than Harry ever could. “You’ll see.”_

_Harry’s jittery when the evening comes, it feels like there’s a pair of butterflies flying around in his stomach. He’s realistic, he knows it’s probably not going to be anything fancy but he doesn’t care; he’s just looking forward to having a nice evening with his Louis, away from everyone else and all the constant noise and chatter. They’ve almost agreed now on moving together after the X-Factor, they’ve done so well they’ll at least get to do the tour later, so it only makes sense to move to London if only for a bit, and they’re going to do it together. They’re going to have a home together, and Harry’s got a mental list of about a dozen meals he already wants to cook with Louis, for Louis._

_He’s happily skipping down the stairs to the kitchen, where Louis is laughing with Niall._

_“Uhm.” Harry makes his presence known._

_“There ya are!” Niall cheers. “Let’s get going, then!”_

_Harry turns to look at Louis who, deservingly so, is looking a bit embarrassed. “Uhm? Louis?”_

_Louis blush gets deeper in its shade of red. “I, eh, was telling Niall that we’re going out to the movies, and to grab a bite to eat, and, uhm, he’s coming with us.”_

_“He’s coming with us?” Harry repeats slowly. He’s started counting to at-fucking-least to ten in his mind, trying to calm down._

_Niall glances from Louis to Harry and back to Louis, then once more to Harry. “Uh oh,” he chuckles. “Didn’t know it was supposed to be a date!”_

_Harry and Louis both stay quiet. They haven’t really made a huge declaration of what’s between them to the boys, but it’s not like they’re blind. Everyone with eyes surely knows about them._

_Niall whistles. “I’ll just, be going then. Away. Somewhere that is not this room.” He takes exaggeratedly sneaky steps towards the door, and remarks over his shoulder. “Wife seems pretty pissed off, Louis!”_

_“Not his fucking wife,” Harry snaps and, not thinking, picks up a dirty glass from the side of the sink and throws it to the floor._

_They both startle on the sound of glass shattering everywhere in teeny tiny pieces. “Shit shit shit,” Harry mutters under his breath, kneels down on the floor to pick up the pieces and cuts his finger. “Shit.”_

_“Let me have a look,” Louis is beside him instantly and sucks the bleeding finger to his mouth. He rises up to get a plaster from one of the cupboards and kneels back down, next to Harry, who now knows for certain his eyes are about to spill over with angry, hurt tears._

_“Here you go,” Louis wraps the plaster around the tip of Harry’s finger. “Careful.”_

_They clean up the mess together, in silence._

_“I didn’t invite Niall, just so you know,” Louis starts as he empties the dust pan to the bin. “He came down, asked what we were up to, I said we were going to the movies and he just decided to join before I got a chance to say it was just an us-thing.” Louis sighs and turns around to look at Harry. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”_

_“I’m not forcing you to date me,” Harry mumbles quietly. “You didn’t need to take me on a date, I didn’t ask, but you offered and I really wanted to go.”_

_“Me too,” Louis looks at the big watch on the wall. “The movie’s a miss now, but we can still go have dinner?”_

_Harry looks up, unable to help a smile. “Yeah?”_

_“Yeah,” Louis smiles back. “I’ll dine you good, Styles.”_

_And he does. They find a small Italian restaurant nearby, splurge on a three course meal that they share the bill for, they laugh and play footsie under the table, and Harry really, really adores Louis._

_They get back to the house, feeling giddy and very close to each other, to find a bottle of cheap-looking white wine with a note from Niall, saying “Drink responsibly. Sorry guys! Kiss and make up x” and Harry thinks it’s a grand piece of advice, and proceeds with the kisses._

_**Don’t fight about the small things. And do not throw stuff.** _

\-- 

Harry’s shocked eyes meet Louis’. “I’ll tidy that up.” He goes to find a brush and cleans the mess while Louis finishes his dinner, not enjoying the food at all anymore. Louis rises up and takes his plate to the sink, rinsing it. Harry’s done with the cleaning and picks a cig from the pack, heading to the back garden. “Don’t follow me,” he says to Louis who’s just picking up a cigarette for himself, now putting it back to the pack.

Louis wraps the remaining food in cling film, puts it in the fridge and loads up the dishwasher. He takes his bags upstairs to their bedroom, goes to the bathroom. He’s washing his face, and catches his own eye in the mirror. “Great job, Tommo”, he shakes his head a bit. He notices a new bath bomb has appeared on the side of the bath tub, gives it a sniff – it looks like planet earth in its vibrant green and blue, and smells minty but not too much – and heads back downstairs, to find an empty kitchen and an empty living room. Harry’s been out back for over half an hour now.

Louis picks up a navy and white striped throw from the sofa and heads outside. It’s dark, obviously, considering it’s the middle of the night. He can feel a whiff of spring in the air but it’s still quite chilly. 

Harry’s sitting in a garden chair, surely hearing that Louis is here now, but he doesn’t tell him to leave. Feeling brave, Louis goes up behind him and spreads the throw over his shoulders.

“Are you done,” he asks softly.

“Done what,” Harry asks with his head still turned down.

“Whatever it is you’re doing here. Moping,” Louis rubs his hands on Harry’s arms to warm him up.

It’s quiet for a bit.

“Yeah,” Harry finally says and stands up, pulling the throw around himself tighter.

“Let’s go finish this, then,” Louis nods towards the door. “You’ve had your fighting face on since I walked in.”

Harry scrunches his nose and growls, and Louis mirrors this and for a fleeting moment Harry feels absolute peace in knowing that everything is, really, fine. That this house is a home of love.

They make their way back to the living room and sit down on the sofa, on the opposite ends with space between them. Harry reaches for the remote and shuts down the telly. They sit quietly, Harry busying himself with picking on the braided ends of the throw.

Louis finally clears his throat. “Thanks for dinner. It was very delicious.”

Harry quickly looks up and then concentrates on his throw-picking duties again. “You’re welcome. Would’ve been nice to have it together.”

Louis nods, resolutely. “It would’ve. And I’m not going to say I’m sorry anymore, you know that already.”

Harry leaves the throw alone finally, sighs and rests his head on the back of the sofa. “No point in saying sorry when you don’t mean it.”

“Excuse me?” Louis sounds mildly irritated.

“Like, you can say sorry, but at one point it just, like it just doesn’t mean anything.”

“What? The hell are you on about now?”

Harry coughs. He absolutely wants to beam himself up somewhere else right now. “Just, like I know things happen and I’m not mad about that, I know stuff comes up, but…” He looks to Louis. “You should’ve let me know.”

“I know. And I agree. And I will, next time.” Louis stops. “I mean, not saying that there will be a next time.”

Harry bites his lip, refusing the tears he can feel starting to form somewhere, willing them back to being unformed. Deformed? “But don’t you think it’s a sign of something?”

“Like what? That I’m an absolute twat?”

“No,” Harry hesitates. “Like, of something more serious.”

Louis stares at him.

Harry forces himself to continue. This has to be said. “That maybe I’m becoming a bit irrelevant to you?”

Louis barks out a laugh. “Harry, please, now you’re just being….” Harry’s eyes flash green. “…annoying.”

“Well sorry if my feelings are annoying to you.” Harry’s definitely losing the battle of not forming tears by now. “You saying that really doesn’t make me feel less irrelevant to you right now, you know,” he says and fuck this, he can feel his lower lip starting to tremble so he bites it.

Louis rubs his eyes exasperatedly. “Babe, come on, I didn’t mean that.”

“You literally just said that you’re annoyed about what I said I was feeling.”

“That’s not…” Louis runs his hands down his face one more time before his hands fall onto his lap. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”

“What exactly did you mean then?”

Harry can feel Louis study him, but it doesn’t feel calculating, it just feels like he’s looking at him. “That you’ve been picking a fight all night, like no matter what I say, you take it the wrong way on purpose, like there’s nothing I can say that doesn’t set you off right now, and it’s annoying.”

Harry can’t really say Louis is wrong, considering he’s not. “I just… I don’t know. We’re both tired, maybe we should just go to bed.”

Louis eyes spark up, ever so slightly. “Or maybe I’ll make us some tea.”

Harry thinks it’s actually a rather brilliant idea, coming from such a twat.

\-- 

_They fucking came in third. It’s all been such a mess, a hysterically sad and then an unbelievably happy mess when they get offered an actual record deal. They’ve signed a goddamn lease contract to their own place, a huge apartment with a lot more space than they need, considering they will of course share a bedroom, but they’re on top of the world and young and decide to overlook details of reality for a wee while longer._

_They’ve lived together for a week now, and Harry is in a state of bliss that doesn’t seem to fade away. He loves being domestic; they go to get groceries together, they do dishes together – often ending up in a water fight – and they have dinner together, the boys have come over for a brunch even, and his life really couldn’t be better. They’re even finally, finally, sharing a bed together with no one else in the same room, and, well, the things that enables are making Harry blush and the butterflies in his stomach flutter insanely hard when he thinks about how smitten he is._

_He’s just chopping veggies for fajitas and humming to a song they’ve been played in the studio, potentially their first single, holy shit, when Louis comes in, holding a huge plastic bag from John Lewis._

_“Haz?”_

_“Hmm?” Harry picks up a piece of yellow pepper and pops it into his mouth._

_“What are these?” Louis holds the bag up._

_“Pillows.”_

_“But we already have pillows?”_

_“No, like cushions for the sofa.”_

_“Our sofa is great. Why would we need cushions?”_

_“Because,” Harry smiles like Louis clearly doesn’t understand what an excellent thing a pile of cushions can be, “they looked nice and were on offer, and I thought they’d be cozy.”_

_“But we don’t need them.”_

_“No,” Harry says slowly, “we don’t need them.”_

_“Like, I’m sure they’re nice and all, but we don’t need to buy a lot of shit to this place. Like this isn’t permanent.”_

_Harry blinks. “What?”_

_Louis puts the bag on the floor. “Like, we aren’t going to live here for that long.”_

_“What do you mean, we just signed a contract?”_

_“Yeah, but it’s not a permanent one. It’s just for now. Like you do realise this isn’t going to be our home for long, right? Like there’s no point in getting a lot of shit that we need to move again in a bit.”_

_“They’re cushions, Lou, they weigh nothing. I’ll move them around if it’s so bothersome for you,” Harry huffs and carries on with back to his chopping._

_“Harry.”_

_“What, Louis?” Harry puts the knife down._

_“Do you get what I’m trying to say?”_

_Harry blinks and replays Louis’ prior words in his head. He seemed to be pissed off about Harry’s choice of cushions, or maybe excessive shopping, and how annoying it’d be to move all the… Oh. Oh no, nonono._

_“I guess I do then, yeah,” Harry says slowly. He takes off his apron and leaves the kitchen, brushing past Louis. He needs to get out of here, that’s the only thought he has, so he throws on the nearest jacket and shoes he can find out of a pile of shoes by the front door – both Louis’ – and storms out of the door._

_He gets home a lot later, when it’s already dark. He’s walked around London with his beanie pulled deep over his head, he’d had a too-strong coffee in a dodgy looking café and finally found his way to Regent’s Park, wandering aimlessly._

_The flat is dark when he makes his way to their bedroom door, but hesitates opening it. He doesn’t really feel like sharing a bed with Louis right now, and, hell, they have enough bedrooms anyway so he goes to one of the other bedrooms. It’s nice looking but not warm nor cozy, and whilst the bed is soft and comfy, he doesn’t get any sleep all night. Instead, in the morning when the sun starts to rise and he realizes he forgot to pull the curtains, his eyes are sore and puffy from crying like an abandoned baby which, he reckons, isn’t too far from the truth. He’s in a city with millions of people and he feels like he is the only person in the whole world._

_**Never go to bed angry. Stay up and fight.** _

\-- 

Louis comes back in a few minutes, holding two cups of steaming tea. He passes the white mug with a black letter H to Harry, holding onto a similar one with a black letter L. It’s strange, this sofa in their living room. Since they moved into this house, it was a non-verbal agreement somehow that this is where they came to sat down, or where they stomped around, whenever there were words to be exchanged. When a fight arose, it was almost magnetic how they were pulled towards this sofa, a neutral yet still safe area, where they both had their own preferred ends of the sofa to sat on and stare at each other, waiting for the storm to start and eventually pass by.

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly as he takes the mug, blowing on it to cool it down. “Perfect,” he sighs after taking a sip.

“I do know how to make your tea after all these years.”

“We are excellent at making tea for each other,” Harry nods a little. “A person-defining skill, in your opinion, isn’t it?”

“Very important. Very British.”

“I guess it’s easier to stick with someone who knows how to make your tea,” Harry tries to mumble under his breath but sort of hoping Louis hears it.

He does. Louis stretches his leg out and pokes Harry’s thigh with the tip of his foot. “Babe.”

Harry looks up, quiet. Louis continues to wiggle his toes to Harry’s thigh.

“You really don’t think that I’m with you, still, for your tea making skills, do you?”

Harry shrugs. He’s been doing that a lot tonight, but he does sort of feel like a human shrug. Passive aggressive and unsure. “I just… I feel like you don’t really care.”

“What?” Louis looks shocked. “About you? You’re saying I don’t care about you?”

\-- 

_Louis is sitting on the kitchen counter, holding a steaming mug of tea with both of his hands, when Harry enters the room._

_“Morning.”_

_Harry steals a quick glance at Louis, making a note of his red eyes. “Morning.”_

_“Would you like some tea?”_

_“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry mumbles as he puts the kettle on and gets a mug and a tea bag for himself. The kettle boils and he pours the water over the tea bag, adds one spoonful of sugar, blows to the mug and still burns his tongue._

_Louis hops down from the counter. “Could we talk?”_

_Harry bins his tea bag, adds a dash of milk if only to annoy Louis who thinks milk in tea is an utter disgrace, and takes his time before saying “Sure.”_

_“Come on.”_

_Louis leads him to the living room, sits down on the sofa – that now has two new cushions on it, one green and one blue – and Harry sits down a few seats away from Louis._

_“Where did you go, last night?”_

_“Just to get some fresh air.”_

_“You didn’t come to bed.”_

_“Thought I’d test one of the other rooms.”_

_Louis sighs. “Harry. You… I get you’re pissed, but you need to let me at least know you’re safe.”_

_“What do you care,” Harry mumbles. He’s being a brat, he knows, and he doesn’t even care._

_“God, of course I care! I didn’t sleep one bit last night. I was so worried.”_

_“Well you could’ve called me!”_

_“I did,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Your phone is in the kitchen. You didn’t even have your phone with you. You can’t just pull off shit like that, you can’t.”_

_“I…” Harry at least has the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “Sorry. I just had to get out.”_

_They sip their teas in silence for a while, until Louis opens his mouth, hesitates, but starts again. “What do you think happened yesterday?”_

_“You know what happened yesterday.”_

_“I know what I tried to say yesterday. I’m not quite sure you got the message, though.”_

_“I did, I really fucking did. Loud and clear.”_

_“Can you tell me, too?”_

_“You said this isn’t permanent.”_

_“I did.”_

_“You said we weren’t permanent.” Harry whispers, and the words feel like they’re stabbing him._

_Louis looks at him, his mouth dropping open, like he can’t believe what Harry’s saying. “What?”_

_“You said that.”_

_“I didn’t say that. Haz, babe, come on, why would I ever say that?”_

_Harry feels lost. He doesn’t understand, at all, and he feels like he’s never been further away from Louis. “What do you think you said then?”_

_“I was talking about this place,” Louis waves his hand around vaguely. “Like, this isn’t going to be our home for long. It’s too expensive, it’s too big, there’s no point in putting a lot of effort into making this a home when it isn’t going to be that for too long. Like, I don’t want to buy lots of shit here just to lug it around to when we move to our actual, more reasonable home.”_

_“What.” Harry hears the words Louis’ lips say, but it feels like the meaning takes ages to sink in. It does, eventually, making him feel like the biggest, dramatic twat who deserves to burn his tongue on his tea._

_“Yeah, that. That’s what I meant. Which you’d know, if you let me finish and not just jump head first into the worst case scenario conclusions.”_

_Harry considers this. “I, well, uhm. Guess I was a bit of a twat, then.”_

_Louis offers him a smile. “You were, a bit.” He stands up and offers his hand to Harry. “Let’s have more tea. And be careful with your tongue, twattikins.”_

_**Tea always makes things better.** _

\-- 

It does sound a bit stupid, hearing it out loud, even to Harry. “Well, no, but…”

“How do you even say that? Or think that?” Louis looks horrified, like it’s the most out-there incredibly unrealistic idea he’s ever heard. And he shares a life with Harry, so Harry knows for a fact that he’s heard some pretty weird ideas.

“Of course I care. I care the most. You know I do.” Louis suddenly looks frightened. “Don’t you? Do you?”

Harry can feel something wet on his cheek and he rubs it off, nodding. “I know.”

Louis takes that as a sign of encouragement. He places his mug on the side table, crawls towards Harry’s end of the sofa, takes his mug off his hand and places it on the table, and takes Harry’s hands to his, kissing his palms. “What’s going on, darling?”

Harry’s absent-mindedly pressing the tips of Louis fingers in an uneven rhythm, swallowing his tears. “It’s dumb. I’m being dumb.”

“Hey.”

Harry sighs. “Silly, then. I’m being silly. I’ve… It’s been so long since I saw you, and all those things have been happening, and I know nothing is real…”

“But us.”

“…Except us, and I got into this weird thing where I just. Worked myself up, I guess. Like all the bad stuff going on in my head.”

“Ok,” Louis nods, encouraging Harry to continue.

“And I’ve missed you so much, and you were late, and I got worried, so worried Lou, at first, but then… It’s just, I made dinner, and I was really looking forward to seeing you, and then you came home and it was like… Felt like you’re taking me for granted?” Harry lets out a deep breath, one that he feels like he’s been holding in for hours.

And that’s it, he realises. Sure, he was being angry, but mainly he had just felt hurt.

“Uhm,” Louis sits up a bit straighter but doesn’t let Harry’s hands go. He studies them for a while and then looks up at Harry again. “I guess you’re not wrong, probably.” 

Harry, born with such a strong competitive streak, almost wants to gloat all the ‘See!’ and ‘I told you so!’ and ‘I was right’s, but this probably isn’t the kind of thing it’s good to be right about.

“Like, you are right. I mean, I thought it wouldn’t matter if I were a bit late as I knew you’d be here anyway, and it was such a dick move. “

“It really was.”

“And, I feel awful, but. I mean, I think to an extent, we both take each other for granted?”

Harry chooses to consider this instead of blowing up. He’s tired, very tired, and they’ve never not been absolutely honest with each other, especially when it comes down to their relationship.

“I guess,” Harry hesitates. “I mean, it’s been years. I know, and I know you know, that this is pretty much a done deal.”

“Maybe it’s just natural to fall into a lull,” Louis rushes, “not that it’s right by any means. I know you’ll be here, and you’ll know I always come home to you.”

They sit quietly for a bit, until Harry clears his throat. “I think, we’ll just, need to be careful between taking each other for granted and trusting our relationship and each other. Like, uhm, even if we take each other for granted, not make each other feel like we are?”

Louis smiles at Harry and when their eyes meet, it’s peaceful. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Are you ok now? Did you get everything out of your system? All the fight’s gone?”

Harry considers. “Yeah, it’s gone.” He could find Louis’ question patronising, but he doesn’t. He does know himself, after all, and he knows Louis probably knows him even a little bit better – and that settling an argument fully, ensuring nothing’s left unsaid, is incredibly important to him. “ You did mess up, but I was a brat as well, and I’m sorry, and I know you’re sorry, and I love you.”

Louis nods, fully agreeing. “We good?” He offers his closed fist to Harry.

Harry bumps it with his own fist. “We’re good.”

\-- 

_They’re up in Doncaster, visiting Louis’ family. Harry is simultaneously infatuated, endeared and a little bit scared._

_“Muuuuum!” Lottie is yelling, running around the living room, chasing Fizzy who’s waving her mobile phone up in the air. “Fizzy’s taken my phone!”_

_“Jaaay,” Fizzy yells, mocking Lottie’s voice. “Lottie is texting with a guy way too old for her!”_

_Harry is sitting on the floor with Louis and the twins. Daisy is currently decorating his hair with glittery butterfly hair clips, whilst Phoebe is rummaging through Lottie’s beauty bag._

_“Louie?” She asks, still focused on the insides of the pink bag._

_“Yes, Pheebs?” Louis is passing Daisy another hair clip. “Try putting it on his lip.”_

_Harry stucks his tongue out at Louis._

_“Do you think I could paint Harry’s nails?” Phoebe digs out a bright orange nail polish, observing it._

_“Of course,” Louis says at the same time as Harry says a hasty “No way.”_

_Phoebe looks at Harry, offended. “Why not?”_

_“Because Harry hates fun,” Louis mock-whispers to Phoebe, rolling his eyes towards Harry._

_Phoebe looks horrified at the mere thought and turns to Harry, eyes big. “Why do you hate fun, Harry? What did fun do to you?”_

_“I don’t hate fun,” Harry says gently to Phoebe. He turns to look at Louis and mouths ‘fuck you’._

_“Muuuum!” Daisy now yells. “Harry said the f-word!”_

_“ALRIGHT,” Jay walks in and claps her hands. “Children, please!” She takes in the view in the living room; of Harry and Louis making faces at each other, Phoebe looking like all fun has been taken away from the world, Lottie and Fizzy still running around and accidentally knocking over a vase of large flowers by the window, and Daisy humming to herself and still popping up hair pins to Harry’s curls._

_“Phoebe, Harry doesn’t hate fun, your big brother is just being silly. Fizzy, give the phone back, and stop calling me Jay, I birthed you for crying out loud. Lottie, you are not texting anyone over---“_

_“But mum!”_

_“I said no! No one who’s more than two years older.”_

_“I’ll never have a boyfriend,” Lottie whines and stomps away._

_“Yeah, we can’t all be as lucky like Lou over here,” Fizzy mutters and gets a stern look from her mum._

_“And Harry, I love you, but no swearing in my house, vocal or silent, please.”_

_Harry feels his cheeks redden and tries his hardest to will the floor to split open and swallow him. “M’sorry, Jay,” he says and makes a mental note to get a bouquet of the nicest flowers for her._

_“And Louis, I know you’re all popstar and everything now, but please.”_

_Louis huffs. “Please what? Come on, I wasn’t even doing anything!”_

_Jay looks up and down at his son, and gives a quick glance to Harry. “Just, behave.”_

_“Fine,” Louis mutters under his breath and Harry feels weirdly gleeful that this little firecracker of a person can be so humbled down by his mum._

_“Great,” Jay sighs. “Now, I need four pairs of hands attached to girls to join me to Asda. Leaving in 14.5 minutes.”_

_The girls go to get ready, and Jay stops by the door and looks back at Louis and Harry. “Can you two sort out dinner? We’ll have a pasta bake, I’ve set out everything in the kitchen, just follow the recipe on the table.” She seems to reconsider something and then points a finger at Louis. “No food fights or I swear to God…”_

_As the ladies of the house leave to the shop, Harry and Louis make a start on dinner._

_“I love your family,” Harry says whilst he’s stirring the pasta._

_“They seem to adore you,” Louis mutters with a baby plum tomato in his mouth. “Makes five of us, then,” he adds, Harry swatting his thigh._

_“Ha ha. Aren’t you funny.”_

_“Makes one of us, then,” Louis smiles, getting another well-deserved swat._

_“Ph-lease,” Harry groans, “you love---“ and shuts up, looking at Louis like a deer in headlights, meeting an identical expression._

_“My jokes,” Harry finishes._

_Dinner in the Tomlinson household is a noisy occasion as always, but Harry feels out of place. He hates it; he adores the girls and Jay._

_Delicious dinner and pudding finished, Louis challenges his sisters to a battle of rock-paper-scissors to deem who gets to be on tidying up duty. It’s amusing, looking at how Louis seems to regress to at least their age if not younger._

_Lost in his thoughts, Harry feels a warm hand around his shoulder, squeezing him._

_“He’s a bit much sometimes,” Jay smiles at Harry like it’s a conspiracy between them._

_“He’s perfect,” Harry automatically says._

_Jay chuckles. “No one’s perfect, dear. We’re all human. But he is very good.”_

_“Ah, didn’t know my biggest admirers are having a club meeting,” Louis comes up to them. “What are you two plotting?_

_“How to get a share of your big popstar money without needing to see you anymore,” Jay nudges her son._

_“I see,” Louis nods and pats Harry’s head. “I wonder about the same, with Harold here, he’s clearly the one who’s going to make the most out of this. Being the girls’ favourite and all. Girls love Harry and we all know how much Harry loves all the girls,” Louis voice gets a slightly breezier tone._

_“I don’t love all the girls,” Harry says lowly, unable to help himself._

_“That’s not what everyone says,” Lottie pops up from nowhere. “Mum, I really don’t get why I can’t date older guys if Harry’s fine to keep seeing older---“ Jay puts her hand over Lottie’s mouth to stop her from finishing. Louis is studying the floor, drawing circles with his toe, and Harry feels like maybe he’s a cat and there’s a huge fur ball in his throat._

_“I, uhm,” he searches for words, “I promised to call my mum, so I’m just going to…” he makes a vague hand gesture and leaves to go upstairs, feeling quite a few pairs of big eyes on his back._

_**Fight in private.** _

\-- 

Louis gives the best hugs, Harry finds himself thinking yet again, as he’s being held tight and he can feel their breathing evening out to the same rhythm. He can feel a warm hand rubbing circles on his lower back, the scent of Louis surrounding him, warm skin under his lips from where his head is pillowed on Louis’ neck. They stay like that for a long time, and with every breath they share, Harry can feel his busy mind calming down, clearing up, his temper tampering down. He feels very cared for, indeed.

“I’ve got something for you,” Louis whispers after a while.

“Aside from whole lotta love?” Harry questions quietly.

Louis chuckles. “Aside from that, yes.”

Harry disentangles himself from Louis’ embrace. “Well gimme, then.”

Louis kisses him, pops upstairs and back downstairs again in a blink of an eye.

“Which hand?” Louis questions as he brings his hands to his front from behind his back.

Harry points out towards his left hand. “That one, please.”

Louis opens it, showing it’s empty. “Hard luck, honey. I guess now we’ll never know.”

Harry smiles brightly, pulling Louis towards himself from his open-palmed arm and pulls him to a kiss. “The other one, then.”

Louis opens his hand, showing a little purple jewellery box. He does do this too often for it to be realistic for Harry to always look so surprised and like it’s the first ring he’s ever gotten, but well, maybe there’s something to it, still being so special. 

Harry opens the box carefully, gasping as he sees the golden signet ring with a dark boat on it. Louis takes the ring off the box and puts it on Harry’s right ring finger, kissing it.

“A boat?”

“’Cause baby you’re my only reason,” Louis hums. “For anything and everything.”

“I love you,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips, proceeding to kiss him. “You’re my most important reason, too.”

\-- 

_“Pickuppickuppickuppleasepickup,” Harry mutters under his breath as he’s throwing his clothes, scattered around the room in Louis’ room to his duffel back, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder._

_The call finally connects._

_“Hi treacle!” Anne chirps._

_Hearing his mum’s voice makes Harry suddenly feel very homesick. “Hey mum.”_

_“How’s Doncaster? Did they like the gifts?”_

_“Mum…”_

_“I hope you brought them gifts, like I told you,” Anne says sternly. “You were not raised to visit people without gifts, Harry.”_

_Harry lets out a sigh. “Yes mum, I know. They loved them, thanks for helping out with those.”_

_“Not a problem, trifle,” Harry can almost hear his mum nodding. Dusty meows in the background. “Dusty says hi.”_

_“Hi Dusty,” Harry says without thinking. “Mum, you need to stop calling me baked goods.”_

_“What, why? I need inspiration for the charity event baking, shortcake, I explained this to you already.”_

_“Mum!” Harry lets out a bit exasperated, a little louder than he wanted._

_“What!” Anne matches the tone, and goes quiet for a bit. “Harry, honey, is everything ok?”_

_Harry sits down on the bed, feeling like he’s deflating. “Can I ask you about something?”_

_“Anything, dear.”_

_“About you and dad?”_

_The line goes quiet for a moment. “Of course, dear,” Anne finally says._

_“Was it… Like, when did you start fighting?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Like, was it very early on or what caused it? Like, just, I dunno.” Harry sighs. “Why did you start fighting so much?”_

_“Are you fighting with Louis? Is that what this is? Do I need to call Jay?”_

_“No, mum, I just… I don’t know what to do.”_

_Anne sounds sad. “I can call Jay, you know, tell her to put the fear of another mutual mum into her son.”_

_Harry laughs despite himself. “Thanks for the offer, but I can actually do this myself. I just, need a bit of help. As in, helpful words,” he rushes, cringing at the thought of his mum and Jay setting up an intervention for himself and Louis._

_“Well, I think we were having rows honestly from the start. Like, we were so head over heels for each other that we didn’t really realise that the little bickering and the silly rows were all a part of a bigger problem.”_

_“What bigger problem?”_

_“That we just didn’t match. We weren’t good for each other, not in the long run. I mean, I wouldn’t change you and your sister for anything, but me and your dad were never really meant to be together. We were just too different.”_

_“And that’s why you fought,” Harry nods, sad, the gears in his brain turning in a direction he doesn’t want them to go. “And that’s why you got divorced.”_

_“No, love,” Anne sounds surprised. “We got divorced because we weren’t able to settle our arguments.”_

_“But it’s the same thing.”_

_“Honey, no. It’s not.”_

_Harry groans. “But it is, mum! You weren’t good together, so you fought, and you got divorced because you fought. People who fight don’t stay together.”_

_Anne laughs and Harry feels like hanging up for a second, until he remembers that he’s the one who called, his mother loves him and he really does need his mum right now._

_“Love, trust me on this. Everyone has fights, arguments, in a relationship. It’s normal. The problems start when you don’t settle the arguments. When you hold on to your grudges.”_

_Harry doesn’t get it. “I don’t get it.”_

_Anne sighs. “Look, love. I’ve seen you and Louis. You two adore each other. It’s quite sickening, really.”_

_“But lately we just keep arguing,” Harry moans._

_“Listen. Harry. My son, my sun. You know I love you. But I am your mother and I know you, and sometimes you need a little bit of motherly tough love.”_

_Harry nods, preparing himself to be told off._

_“Do you know what you’re fighting about?”_

_Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course, it’s like, little things here and there, he just said…”_

_“No no,” Anne interrupts him, “let me rephrase that. Does he know what you are arguing about with him?”_

_“I, uhm,” Harry stutters, not understanding._

_“Just like your dad, I swear,” Anne sighs compassionately. “Talk to him. Be honest. He isn’t a mind reader. You have this habit of thinking that you’re an open book, but baby, you’re not.”_

_“What, no, I wear my heart on my sleeve, you’ve said, several times!”_

_“Until someone actually wants to see it. Then you hide it. Listen, the only thing I can really tell you is that the key to a good relationship is to learn how to argue together.”_

_“That makes no sense,” Harry huffs, “you don’t argue in good relationships.”_

_“Oh love,” Anne sighs. “Talk to him. Don’t bottle everything up and then throw a tantrum and throw stuff, like you tend to. Talk to him.”_

_“But mum,” Harry ‘s voice sounds desperate now, “I think he’s going to leave me.”_

_“Excuse me?” a pointed voice comes from by the door, startling Harry._

_“Mum, listen, I need to go.”_

_“But Harry….”_

_“Mum, I need to go. Love you,” Harry ends the call and turns to look at Louis._

_**Fight until it’s all out.**_

\--

The first rays of the morning sun are starting to wake up and paint the garden. Harry and Louis are cuddled up under the throw, new cups of tea – perfectly made – in their hands, the steam rising from the mugs and warming them.

Harry fumbles around, finds Louis’ hand and places it on top of his head. “Pet my hair, please.”

Louis fingers start slowly and lightly stroking Harry’s hair, wrapping some strands around his finger, adding a bit of pressure when reaching Harry’s neck, giving a little rub, then making their way up again.

“Your hair’s growing so fast, Harpunzel,” Louis entangles his finger around one small curl on top of Harry’s ear. “It’s like you’re magical,” he adds seriously, directing his words to the little curl.

“They are nurtured with top range hair products,” Harry affirms, “and love. It’s easy to grow when you’re loved and taken care of.”

“Isn’t it just,” Louis agrees and kisses Harry’s temple.

\-- 

_“You think I’m leaving you?” Louis repeats, sounding a little angry._

_“Lou, I…”_

_“Very interesting information you have there. Wow, Haz, if only I myself would’ve known!” Louis kicks the door shut with his foot and takes a few steps towards the bed. “Seriously, Harry, what the actual fuck?”_

_Harry suddenly realizes that this is, probably, one of the most important moments of his life. He glances down his hand and somehow imagines seeing his heart peeking from under the sleeve._

_“It, I, we…” Harry rubs his eyes and pats on the bed, suggesting for Louis to take a seat._

_Louis does, looking at him challengingly, still waiting for an answer._

_“We keep bickering so much,” Harry finally lets out._

_“So?” Louis looks sincerely puzzled._

_“Doesn’t it concern you?”_

_Louis shakes his head slowly. “No, I mean… No. Why, does it concern you?”_

_“Of course it does. People have a fight and then they break up.”_

_Louis has the audacity to laugh lightly. “No, that’s not how it goes, Harry.”_

_“How can you even say that! Your parents divorced, my parents divorced, I know you grew up listening to the constant fights!”_

_Louis seems to consider this. “But, that’s not us.”_

_“But that’s how it always starts. You’re being annoyed with me and then you start hating me and everything I do is wrong and then you leave me,” Harry says and hates, absolutely hates how miserable he sounds. Well, hell, the thought does make him miserable._

_“No,” Louis says slowly, “you annoy me and I annoy you and then we sort it out and make up.”_

_“No,” Harry shakes his head, defeated. “You’ll realize how awful I am and then you’ll leave me and I deserve it because I annoyed you.”_

_“No, babe,” Louis strokes Harry’s cheek with his thumb lightly, “that is not how it goes. We have a disagreement, like of course we do, and we talk it out. And then it’s better. And then there might be another time we argue and, newsflash, we talk about it and carry on.”_

_Harry pulls his sleeve over his palm and rubs his nose on it. “We do?”_

_“Yes,” Louis pinches his cheek. “Arguing doesn’t mean the relationship is going to end. It’s just two people disagreeing about something.”_

_“Feels like we’ve disagreed on everything recently,” Harry sniffs again._

_Louis sighs and pulls Harry to him, starting to run his fingers through his curls. “Yeah, about that. Do you think you’re maybe ready to tell me what’s going on?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“You don’t know if you’re ready?”_

_“No, I don’t know what’s going on.” Harry sniffs again and gosh, isn’t he an epitome of a remarkably aspirational future popstar right now._

_They stay like that, quietly, for a moment, until Louis starts to talk, with an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “You’ve seen how my family fights all the time. We’re always up in arms, but you know I adore them, we all adore each other.”_

_Harry nods._

_“Like, we disagree, and we say it, and then it gets forgotten. That’s what a family does. I get pissed off at all of them but I’m not walking out or leaving them.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“Just like, babe,” Louis takes Harry’s face between his hands and looks him straight into his eyes, probably straight into his soul. “Us fighting doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. It means we sometimes get under each other’s skin, we’re two people trying to share a life, of course we’ll butt heads sometimes. Being annoyed with each other is normal. It doesn’t mean there’s no love.”_

_Harry feels his eyes start to burn under the gaze, or maybe because of that one word, or maybe it’s not even his eyes, maybe it’s his soul._

_“Is that what you feel we have?”_

_Louis smiles and kisses him softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”_

_“But you’ve never said.”_

_“You’ve never said, either.”_

_Slowly, Harry starts to feel a grin form on his lips. “Said what?”_

_Louis roll his eyes. “You know.”_

_“Tell me,” Harry tries to tease but it comes out sounding a lot like a plea._

_“I love you,” Louis whispers. “I want you to know I love you. Sorry I haven’t told you before.”_

_“I love you too,” Harry smiles, and though he never really won The X-Factor, he doubts it’d feel as amazing as this, right here, feels._

Harry thinks Louis might feel the exact same way, based on how intensely he’s being kissed. When their lips finally part, Louis holds up his pinky and offers it to Harry. “Can we make a deal to trust each other and to trust us, what we have? Not bottle things up anymore?” 

_Harry wraps his pinky around Louis’, agreeing wholeheartedly. “I think I know now.”_

_“Know what, love?”_

_“What was up with me.”_

_“Yeah? Could you tell me?”_

_Harry spends the rest of the night cuddled up with Louis, looking for words and forcing them out – it gets easier – telling about his stupid insecurities, the fear of being left alone, feeling like Louis was pulling away from him and ashamed of what they had, of not being good enough, of ruining everything with his weirdness and with how annoying he is. When the sun starts to rise, Harry feels like aside from all the things he knows for certain about life, nothing is as solid as knowing that he really is unconditionally loved, and there’s never going to be a time when he and his Louis are not going to share a life._

_He also knows they need to set out some rules on how to fight with each other._

_**Fighting doesn’t mean there’s no love.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this - I hope you enjoyed! If you did, kudos and comments would mean more to me than non-milky tea means for Louis xx


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